


The Story of Tonight

by jeely



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Background Relationships, Christmas, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5553272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeely/pseuds/jeely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is just trying to pass his last required classes, okay?  It’s not his fault Hot Pretentious Derek keeps popping up all over the place and ruining his day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Story of Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Gift for [herosterek](http://herosterek.tumblr.com/) for the [stereksecretsanta](http://stereksecretsanta.tumblr.com/)! Originally posted [here](http://stereksecretsanta.tumblr.com/post/135921349458/merry-christmas-herosterek).

Stiles skids into History 201, sure he's horrendously late (his nap may have run a little long), but the only other person in the room is Hot Pretentious Derek. Because of course.

They'd had a friendly(?) battle going since the beginning of the semester. Stiles' track schedule hadn't allowed him to take the class before his junior year, leaving him with Hot Pretentious Derek and a gaggle of freshmen. HPD was a senior transfer student, apparently, as they'd learned in the first lab session, but his credits from his previous school hadn't transferred with him. Stiles' heart bled for him, truly. He may be an ass, but he was one _fine_ ass.

"Mom, it's fine, really," HPD sighs into his phone in what sounds like the tone of a repeated argument. "I could really use the extra time to study and I know how important this Cairo trip is for you and Dad."

Hot Pretentious Derek's perfectly bushy eyebrows are pushed down into a vee of irritation, his annoyingly well-kempt beard not hiding his frown. _Cairo,_ Stiles scoffs to himself. His internal monologue puts on airs and kind of a douche-y tone. _Yes, it's so lovely this time of year. Ha-ha-ha!_

"I'll Skype you on Christmas morning, I promise," HPD grumbles, drawing Stiles back out of his mockery to eavesdrop. "I am not sleeping on Laura's floor again, no matter how much she pays for her stupid Manhattan apartment. She couldn't spring for a sofa bed that wouldn't kill my sciatica?"

_Manhattan?_ Stiles' eyebrows creep toward his hairline at that. He thought HPD was just, you know, regular hot and pretentious. But Cairo trips? Living in Manhattan? Dude must be rich, to boot. _What a tragic life he must lead,_ Stiles sighs, pulling out his notebook. _Hot and rich? Oh the curses placed upon his head! Woe and despair!_

"Excuse me?"

Stiles' head snaps up to find HPD staring at him as he slides his phone back in his pocket. "Uhhhh...."

HPD rolls his eyes and digs out his own notebook in response, clearly done with Stiles' shenanigans.

"Whatever, dude," Stiles mutters, turning his attention to the notes from the last class. They'd finally gotten past the Vietnam War, Professor Harris' dissertation topic and the bane of Stiles' existence. This was only an 18 week class and Harris had spent at least 6 of them on the horrors of the War itself. Stiles was pretty sure he wasn't alone in his estimation of Harris as a supremely disturbing man.

Lost in his thoughts, Stiles doesn't notice the beginning of the class hour has come and gone until he hears a quiet "shit!" behind him. Turning, he sees HPD packing his things and glaring at his phone.

"What?"

HPD sighs and rolls his eyes again, a trait Stiles is steadily getting used to and increasingly annoyed by.

"Today's class was cancelled. Harris sent out an email about an hour ago," he says flatly, turning and stomping up the stairs.

"Well okay then," Stiles replies to the empty room. He sits there for another long moment before nodding decisively. "Nap time."

\---

Derek is sure, within a 10th of a percent, that Indo-European Linguistics & Semantics is going to be the class that kills him this year. Professor Morrell is tough and expects the very best from every one of her students. Derek appreciates that about her - his parents have never expected anything other than trying his very best at everything he's ever attempted, even if it ended in horrific failure (looking at you, 9th grade tuba attempt). "If you don't try, you can't succeed" is practically the Hale family motto at this point.

So it's only at 3 in the morning on Tuesday just before Thanksgiving break that Derek decides he's tried enough for one day. He takes his glasses off and paws at his eyes for a moment, trying to rub away the fatigue. Derek stands and stretches, then roots around on his desk for some loose change - his landlord is kind enough to keep Red Bulls stocked in the communal vending machine on the first floor and he could definitely use one right now.

The apartment building is older, but full of charm, hardwood floors, and original sconces. Derek had fallen in love at first sight. The fact that it was both reasonably priced and only a few miles from campus was just a bonus. He stumbles down the stairs, trying to ignore the way his bed is calling to him. Just one more chapter and then he'll call it a night.

Then again, maybe it's time to get some sleep, he thinks, as he rounds the corner and steps into some kind of hallucination.

"Oh my god," Stiles exclaims from his spot on the floor. "I have never been so happy to see another person in my life!"

One of his long, gangly arms is shoved inside the vending machine almost to the shoulder.

"What."

"I was trying to get my candy, right? But it didn't fall, so I was like, 'I'll just shove my skinny ass arm up there and get it, no probs,'" he says, free arm flailing a bit with each word. "I was wrong." Stiles droops a little and sympathy shoots through Derek.

"Did you get your candy at least?" Derek asks, a grin tugging at his mouth.

Stiles scowls and flips him off with the hand stuck in the machine. Derek absolutely does not laugh at that.

"Would you just help me, please?" he asks, staring up at Derek with those whiskey-gold eyes. "I've been here for over an hour and I don't want to lose this arm. It's my favorite."

Derek heaves a put-upon sigh and drops to his knees behind Stiles. "I'll hold the bar open, you wiggle out."

It takes a solid five minutes of sliding and wiggling before Stiles finally yanks his arm free, rolling away on his back to freedom.

"Holy crap, dude," he gasps, eyes bright. "You are a lifesaver."

Derek fights back the blush creeping up his cheeks and waves a hand, words getting caught in his throat as Stiles stands.

"No, for real," he says, backing toward the stairs. "I didn't want to have to jerk it left-handed for the rest of my life." Stiles winks and darts away, leaving Derek sitting on the grungy floor, gaping at the doorway.

He decides to skip the Red Bull and just call it a night.

\---

Things between them are slightly less hostile for the last few weeks of class. They still argue in class, debating whether or not this or that was a good decision. By the time finals rolls around, they've managed to build a friendly competition for top of the class. Stiles is almost sad when he walks out of his last test and realizes he won't be able to rile Derek up anymore.

Since the night at the vending machine, he'd only seen Derek once or twice outside of class, and only in passing. He'd even stopped calling him HPD in his head. He hated that Derek was humanized for him now. It was much easier when he was still the hot pretentious douche in his history class.

Two nights before Christmas, he's down in the basement laundry room, reading romance novels on his Kindle and waiting for his load of jeans to finish drying. His dad is on overnights for the next month, and Stiles can't really afford to drive back up to Beacon Hills anyway. It's just as well - he can get a jump on studying for the next semester, finish up his laundry, tidy the apartment, and lounge around in his underwear for 3 weeks.

He certainly doesn't expect to look up from Zaynab's deflowering to see Derek standing in the doorway of the laundry room. And from his expression, Derek didn't expect to see him either.

"My dad's working," Stiles blurts with a wince. "I mean, you aren't home with your family?"

Derek starts loading his clothes into a free washer, his glorious ass to Stiles. He turns too fast and Stiles is caught staring. He wants to slap that smug look right off of Derek's face. (Or kiss it off. Six of one, half dozen of another.)

"My parents are on an archaeological dig for six months," he replies, dumping in some detergent and leaning back against the machine as it starts up. "And my sisters share a tiny studio apartment in Harlem. I'd rather not sleep on their floor again this year." Derek shrugs and sits down across from Stiles at the little table.

"Your parents are in Cairo, right?" asks Stiles, remembering the phone call from so many weeks ago.

The next hour is filled with companionable chit-chat as Derek fills Stiles in on his parents' positions at one of the museums in New York, his two sisters and their own educations at NYU (Cora's a sophomore studying Art History, Laura's getting her masters in Mechanical Engineering). Before he knows it, the dryer is beeping at Stiles to let him know his jeans are finally dry.

"Would you...." Derek stops himself, avoiding Stiles' questioning gaze. "Would you like to come over for Christmas dinner tomorrow night?" he finally asks as he looks back up. "I'm making lasagna and always have more than enough?"

Stiles doesn't even bother fighting the grin forcing its way out, beaming down at Derek still sitting at the table. "I'd love to," he says. "Can I bring something?"

"Dessert maybe?" replies Derek, looking brighter than Stiles has seen him in a while. "Apartment 3B tomorrow at 7. Don't be late."

The next night finds Stiles knocking on Derek's door at 7:03, just to be a little shit. Derek swings open the door with a smile, letting a truly upsettingly delicious smell waft into the hallway. "You're late."

"But I brought dessert!" Stiles replies, shoving past him into the tidy little apartment and holding his cake aloft. "It's my mom's kremówka - a Polish cream cake. She left the recipe to me when she died."

Derek's face starts to fall and Stiles flails a little, not meaning to upset him. "No, no, it's okay. I miss her, but when I eat her kremówka, it feels like she's here."

They stand there smiling at each other for a few long moments before Derek clears his throat.

"Thank you for sharing it with me," he says, tips of his adorable ears pinking up.

Stiles' heart grows three sizes as he replies, "you're more than welcome."

\---

Derek does not spend the week after Christmas pouting. He is a grown man who pays taxes and does not pine for annoying motor mouths with amber eyes and spotty moles and beautiful lips and long fingers and...dammit!

Erica manages to drag him out of his apartment and to her New Year's Eve party with the promise of copious amounts of free booze that night and sausage puffs for breakfast. Erica's sausage puffs make Derek glad he's not a vegetarian anymore.

He's standing in a corner (no moping, Erica, shut up), sipping at a Jack and Coke when he spots a familiar flash of brown hair. Derek finds himself drawn across the room, a smile breaking across his face when he realizes he was right.

"Stiles!" he says happily. It's possible there's more Jack in his drink than he thought if he's this happy early in the night. It would figure that Erica would make his drink extra strong, evil woman that she is.

"Derek," Stiles replies, turning his pretty pretty eyes on Derek. "I didn't know you'd be here. How do you know Boyd?"

Derek leads Stiles to the drink table and watches him mix up something that looks fruity and disgusting.

"I'm friends with Erica, actually, and Boyd by default. How do you know them?" he asks, sipping at his drink and trying desperately to ignore the way Stiles' long fingers twist off the caps of various bottles.

"My best friend Scott is dating Isaac and Allison," Stiles replies. He points across the room to a beautiful brunette holding court with Erica's brother, Isaac, and his boyfriend Scott.

"Allison Argent?" Derek's jaw drops a little in recognition and surprise.

Stiles lets out a surprised little sound as he finishes up his drink. "You know her, too?"

"Yeah," Derek grimaces. "I went on one date with her Aunt Kate before she tried to burn down my house. Allison is sweet, though."

Stiles gapes at him. "I'm sorry, she what?"

Huffing out a short laugh, Derek nods in the direction of the patio. "A story for another time," he replies.

They step out into the brisk cold of late December in New York and Derek sighs quietly. He hadn't been counting on Stiles being here tonight, hadn't thought of it in his wildest dreams, but now that he is, it's all Derek can do to keep from putting his arms around him and claiming him as his own.

"So, you're here alone then?" Stiles asks, looking at Derek out of the corner of his eye, his gaze straight ahead to the city's skyline.

Derek smiles and turns to face him fully. "Yeah," he replies, just enough alcohol in his system to make him brave. "There's this guy I can't stop thinking about, though." He sees Stiles' face fall the tiniest bit and continues on. "I was hoping, maybe, he might want to kiss me at midnight."

Stiles' brow furrows as he pivots on his heel to face Derek. "It's like 30 seconds to midnight, dude, you should go find him."

Derek just rolls his eyes before pinning Stiles with an unimpressed look. He smiles as he sees the realization cross Stiles' face.

"Oh. OH!" Stiles says, glancing down at his watch. "Well then, I guess you'll get your wish in three."

Stiles steps closer, hooking a finger in Derek's belt loop. "Two."

"Stiles, just kiss me already," Derek demands.

He does.

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on [tumblr](http://jeely.tumblr.com)! :D


End file.
